Christmas Eve, 1977.
The Newsman had serious doubts about having agreed to participate in the closing number. Kermit and Miss Mousey were singing their duet, "All I Want for Christmas Is You," in front of the holly-swagged main drapes while Scooter and the stagepigs dashed around backstage setting the scenery in place for the last number in this special Christmas Eve show. Newsie jumped out of the way several times, his discomfiture growing, unsure where he was supposed to stand. "Er…excuse me?" he tried to stop the young man in the green jacket and fake reindeer antlers.
Scooter paused only an instant, grabbing Newsie's shoulders and stepping with him a few paces stage right. "Stay right there, Newsman! You'll be Parson Brown. You know the song, right?"
"A parson?" Newsie gave the boy a look of total confusion.
"Yeah, you know, from 'Winter Wonderland'? 'In the meadow we can build a snowman, and pretend that he is –'"
"I know the song," Newsie said. "But –"
"Great! Okay, dump the snow!" Scooter whispered loudly, and before Newsie could even point out that he didn't have the right costume for a parson, just his normal plaid sports coat, what felt like a half-ton of fake snow was unleashed upon him from above. "Perfect! Newsman, don't move! All right, the tree goes over there –"
The snow, which felt like some kind of slightly sticky foam, and slid down inside his shirt like tiny bits of packing peanuts, completely covered Newsie. The downpour had knocked his glasses off. He could feel the stuff piled atop his head, his shoulders, and glomped around him to the chest; he doubted he could move much even without the admonishment. He was forced to stand motionless another few minutes while the song out front ended, the audience applauded, Scooter rushed the pigs offstage, and the band struck up a musical flourish while, presumably, the curtains opened. The set must've looked splendid, as he heard murmurs and scattered applause from the house. He couldn't see a thing. Gently chiming bells sounded somewhere off to his left, and as the music shifted smoothly into "Winter Wonderland," he heard Gonzo begin singing in front of him: "Sleigh bells ring – are you listening?"
Fozzie picked it up. "In da lane, snow is glist'ning!"
Kermit and Piggy strolled on, arm in arm. "A beautiful sight!" "Moi is happy tonight!"
And then numerous other voices joined the first four: "Walkin' in a winter wonderland!"
The Newsman stood there, highly uncomfortable, overly hot under the fake snow and the stage lights while the song went on, wondering how he was supposed to play any sort of part under all this. Then abruptly he felt hands patting the snow onto him more. What the-? "In da meadow we can build a snowman," Fozzie sang out right next to him, and suddenly Newsie's glasses jabbed his left ear. "Sorry," Fozzie muttered softly, readjusting them so they sat on his nose properly.
"And pretend that he is Parson Brown," Piggy sang brightly. Newsie blinked at her in astonishment, then looked down at himself, a vaguely person-shaped mound of sparkling white stuff.
"He'll say…" Gonzo prompted in song. Newsie stared at him, realized the next line was supposed to be his, and choked out gruffly at Kermit and Piggy:
"Uh…are you married?" The audience laughed, and Newsie blushed.
"We'll say No, man!" Kermit sang, flapping his arms to emphasize how very not married he was, prompting more laughter.
"But vous can do the job when you're in tooooowwn," Piggy cooed, fluttering her eyelashes at the frog.
They strolled off, continuing the tune next to a large, fluttery-paper false bonfire: "Later on, we'll conspire…as we dream, by the fire…"
Newsie was relieved when there wasn't a second bridge; instead, the cast slid smoothly into "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm." He stood there, still snowmanized, uncertain how to get out of the clingy stuff. No one was paying any attention to him, but he was still onstage. He wasn't sure what to think when his frog boss' little nephew hopped playfully atop his shoulder, then his head, peering at Newsie upside-down with a smile. "C'mon, join in!" the tiny froglet whispered to him, then added his sweet spring-peeper voice to the chorus. Reluctantly, Newsie cleared his throat and sang along as well. At least, in doing so, he might look more like he belonged there.
The music shifted yet again into "Let It Snow." Flurries of more fake snow sprinkled down; off in the stage left wing, Newsie could see one of the pigs shaking a rope as that enormous shaggy hulk the others called Sweetie (or something like that) lazily pulled another rope up and down to operate a long canvas full of the snowy stuff hanging the breadth of the stage. He wished he was in the audience watching, so he could see the effect; as it was, he had to suppress three sneezes with the lighter bits of fluff swirling around him. Finally, the band quieted, and the other cast members all came onstage, dressed for winter outings in colorful red and green scarves, coats, and knit hats.
Kermit stepped in front of everyone, looking out at the audience. "Have yourself a merry little Christmas," he sang softly.
Gonzo moved into place beside him. "Let your heart be light…"
"From now on, our troubles will be outta sight," Fozzie added, actually sounding melodic. As the song progressed, Newsie's irritation smoothed away, his ears and thoughts captivated by the soft, sincere sentiment. He didn't realize he was murmuring the words along with the others until Robin patted his head affectionately. Startled, Newsie glanced up, having a hard time focusing on the froglet perched right above his glasses. The child's smile, however, was so guileless, so warm, that the Newsman relaxed, and joined in at full vocal strength for the last line: "So have yourself a merry little Christmas…now."
There were two curtain calls before Kermit ordered the front drapes to stay closed, no doubt seeing how impatient some of his cast were to get on with their own holiday. Everyone trundled off the stage, laughing, talking loudly…leaving the Newsman buried in fake snow. "Uh…hello? Um. Guys?"
Eventually he was able to dig himself out, with a lot of straining and shifting his whole body from side to side until he toppled over. Still brushing the stuff from his hair and clothing with a scowl, he wandered backstage. Kermit was calling out over the general din: "We'll wait and strike the set after New Year's!" This produced a loud cheer. As the Newsman passed the frog, Kermit nodded at him. "Hey, great snowman! Good job."
"Er…thanks."
Everyone seemed to be hurrying around aimlessly. That weird furry-faced drummer bounded past, causing Newsie to throw himself out of the way. "Chic-ken! Chic-ken!" the musician roared, chasing a couple of panicked white birds, dragging the bassist after him with a chain which didn't seem to be doing much to restrain the enthusiastic poultry-pursuer.
"Floyd!" Gonzo complained, hurrying after the impromptu parade.
"Hey man, sorry! He got into the eggnog!"
Downstairs, the sax player and that odd, gold-toothed man who seemed to be the band's leader stood off by a large punchbowl full of eggnog, laughing. A small group of rats were engaged in a hula-hoop contest, using wreath-shaped cookies from the buffet of treats that took up much of the green room. Various Muppets stood around chatting, laughing, eating and drinking. The Newsman felt a pang of longing; he would have liked to join in…but Mother would be expecting him. He stood and watched everyone a minute longer, apart and alone, then sighed, and forced his feet into motion. He should fetch his coat and the box of special cookies he'd bought at that wonderful bakery a short distance down Ninth Avenue, and go home. Sighing again silently, he went to the coatrack and shelves where many of them stashed their things during work here; he didn't have a dressing-room yet. His coat was right where he'd left it, but the box...the box was gone!
Oh, no! Those cookies had cost him almost twelve dollars! He'd browsed the amazing display of them a long time, admiring the fine icing decorations on the reindeer, Christmas trees, stars, stockings, snowmen, and wreaths made of sweet sugar dough with real vanilla, finally choosing three of each gorgeously-colored design in rich icing, sprinkled sugars, and those tiny edible silver things he liked. He'd made sure to get enough so if Aunt Ethel and Uncle Joe dropped in tomorrow there would be plenty for everyone. And, of course, he planned to set out two of the best ones for Santa tonight. Frantically, he looked around at the happy, socializing Muppets. Could one of them really be a thief? Sure, many of them were strange, even weird, but he wouldn't have thought any of them would be so low as to take another man's cookies!
Newsie stopped Scooter as the gofer passed by, trailing a wand with sparkly red and green streamers. "Did you see a box of cookies over here?" he asked the boy.
Scooter beamed. "Oh, yeah! Those were amazing! Thanks so much for bringing them!"
"What?"
"Yeah, I put 'em out on the table earlier for you. Looks like they were quite a hit!" Unconcerned, Scooter trotted off. Panicked, Newsie hurried to the buffet. His eyes darted from platter to plate to bowl along the spread until he ran into Miss Piggy. Her back was to him, and muffled grunting noises came from her mouth. Newsie hurriedly tapped her shoulder.
"Uh, excuse me, but –"
Startled, the pig whirled around, colored sugars and icing coating her snout, her blue eyes wide for an instant. "Hey, whadda ya mean sneaking up on—" she began, indignant, but the Newsman saw what she'd been stuffing her face with, and let out a cry of despair.
"My cookies! Noooo!"
"Cookies? I didn't see any cookies," Gonzo said, his eyes widening in anticipation. Newsie snatched up the last remaining prettily iced cookie – a reindeer – and backed away from Piggy, giving her a look of pure anguish. No! Only one? Only one left?
"You just missed the last one," Piggy grumbled, wiping her mouth daintily.
"Oh. Geez, everybody grabs the good stuff first," Gonzo complained, turning to see what else the tables held.
"My cookies…" Newsie groaned. He gently wrapped the lone survivor in his clean handkerchief.
"What's the big deal?" Piggy asked, watching him with a frown.
"Those…those were supposed to be for my family…and for Santa," Newsie told her.
"Oh. Sorry. Well, you mighta put a note on 'em or someth—did you say for Santa?" Piggy asked, astonished.
The Newsman glanced around; Dr Teeth, Gonzo, the long-legged blonde from the band, and that odd scientist from the lab sketch were all nearby and looking askance at him. "Uh. Yes," he muttered.
Gonzo blinked at him. Dr Teeth started chuckling, his round shoulders shaking. He gestured with a cup of eggnog at Newsie. "Dude, how old are you?"
Newsie bristled. "I don't see that that's any of your –"
"I would have thought a worldly journalist such as yourself would know by now Santa is just a story for the kiddies," Piggy mocked him.
"I mean, that's sweet, but, you know, rully," the blonde agreed, smiling as she shook her head. The scientist merely put a hand to his mouth and snickered.
"Well, I leave him milk and cookies every year, and every year, someone eats them," Newsie protested, feeling his cheeks turning pink.
"What's goin' on?" Floyd asked, wandering over, a somewhat calmer drummer in tow.
"Newsdude here still leaves out cookies for Santy Claus!" Dr Teeth said.
Floyd laughed. "Man, you must have some very happy mice at your pad!"
"Mother hates mice!" Newsie argued. "Santa eats the cookies, and his reindeer eat the carrots and apples!"
"Oh, man," the guitarist said, still shaking her head.
"He feeds the little deer too! Wow, man, there is such a thing as taking the holiday spirit too far, too long!" Dr Teeth laughed, and most of them nodded agreement.
"You're…you're just wrong!" Newsie spluttered, backing away.
"Hey, hang on," the blonde said, looking concerned, but Newsie pointed an angry, shaking finger at them all.
"Fine! Laugh all you want! I know he's real!" With that final pronouncement, the Newsman grabbed his coat and fled, humiliated. He never should have said anything! At least he wouldn't have to see any of them until after the New Year… With cheeks burning against the cold, he ran out into the chilly evening, full of enough angry energy to walk half the distance home. He ignored the cold wind gusting along the streets, the people hurrying past, the flickers of colorful lights and the sounds of carolers and merriment whisking past as he strode along. He held the last cookie carefully inside a pocket, keeping it wrapped, hoping the icing wouldn't get too smudged. He hoped Santa wouldn't think it was a poor offering. He really had tried to make this year memorable; it had been an odd year in many respects. Things had begun falling on him or attacking him during his News Flash reports at the Muppet Theatre; Mother had insisted she was going through severe ailment after ailment, even after he'd found out she was not, in fact, losing her eyesight as she'd claimed last year; the one girl he'd encountered whom he thought might share a common bond had turned him down before things had even gone anywhere; and his substitute-presenter job at the TV station seemed prone to bizarre happenstances as well.
And now his Muppet colleagues thought he was childish for his belief in Santa Claus. And Mother would want to know what became of the cookies he'd promised to bring for everyone.
He saw a bakery still open, and stepped inside. They had a few cookies, though clearly the selection had been picked over already, and they offered nothing as grand as the gaily decorated ones he'd purchased earlier from the other bakery. Glumly he shelled out the last of his pocket money, which had been intended for a new pair of mittens for him, to get a few macaroons and gingersnaps. He'd save the really nice one, the last really nice one, for the small plate he'd sneak into the living room after he was sure Mother was sound asleep. At least he'd put out the carrots and apples on the roof ahead of time tonight. He hoped no greedy creatures would steal those before the reindeer arrived. With cold hands and a downcast gaze, he found a subway entrance to take him the rest of the way home.
Christmas Eve, 1987.
The truck was definitely speeding. Newsie bounced painfully several times down the embankment toward the river, eyes shut tight, trying to protect his glasses with one hand while clinging to his satchel with the other. Above the groan of the vicious wind, he heard the frustrated roar of a frustrated monster, and then the squeal of brakes on the highway. "Oof –ungh –oww – unhhh –" It felt like he hit every rock, every stump, every unyielding bit of frozen ground on the way down. The seatbelt lock had unstuck just as the trucker sprouted black fur everywhere, and without hesitation Newsie had yanked open the door and thrown himself out of the cab of the semi. Anything had to be better than being eaten by a carol-humming monster! As he thumped hard against a large tree trunk, he heard the truck growling, reversing. Dazed, panicked, he staggered more or less to his feet and ran for his life through a thickly forested ravine alongside the Hudson. Quickly his nose froze up; he panted cold clouds as he stumbled along. Crashing noises came from behind him somewhere; the monster was coming after him! Desperate, he looked back – and in the dim moonlight when the clouds parted just then, saw his own clear tracks in the snow. Oh, no!
That thing would find him in no time! Where could he hide? How could he throw off his horrible pursuer? "Hey, come back here!" the creature howled.
"Erk!" Newsie cringed, looking all around in the near-darkness, the clouds and wind closing in once more. Snow picked up from a drift, blowing into his face. He heard a low, quiet trickling noise. The river! He could wade into it, and erase his tracks, and throw the thing off the scent, if it was following him like a bloodhound! Immediately he veered toward the watery sound, splashing into the shallows so quickly it startled him. Oh good grief that is freezing! Sheer terror kept his legs moving despite the instant chill sweeping up his body; the water here reached to his knees. More crackling-branch, crunching-snow noises came from the embankment, sounding nearer to him than before; it was gaining! Shivering so hard he could barely keep striding forward, the Newsman cast his eyes about desperately, and then spotted something overhanging the far bank, alongside a group of snowy rocks. Panting, grimacing, he waded straight across, nearly slipping and falling all the way into the water when it unexpectedly deepened. No, no, no, please! He scrambled onto the rocks, reaching up to the low-lying, thick fir branch with shaking arms. By wrapping his entire body around it and dragging himself up one-handed slowly, still hanging doggedly to his satchel, he was able to climb up into the sheltering branches next to the trunk. Just as he reached it, the monster trucker emerged on the far bank, calling out in its rough voice.
"Yooo-hoo! Little Muuup-pet! Where are youuuuu!"
Newsie bit his own coatsleeve, muffling his involuntary cry of fear, clinging to the fir trunk. He hoped the thick needles of the surrounding branches and the snow-whipped night would be enough to hide him from the beast. He couldn't look, shutting his eyes tight, his heart pounding loudly, too afraid to feel the cold. He heard more crunching sounds as the monster tramped up and down the riverbank on the other side, searching for him. Newsie held so tightly he felt his hands and feet freezing into position, waiting for the inevitable cry of triumph from the monster when it found him. However, after several more minutes, he heard the thing growl, and trudge away. It sounded like it was leaving…
"Nuts," Bobby Lee muttered, tromping back to his truck. "And it was gonna be his turn to scare me next…"
The Newsman opened his eyes when he heard the semi start back up, and then, wonder of wonders, the monster drove away! Perhaps even a tasty Muppet dinner wasn't worth wrecking his trucking schedule for. Newsie shivered violently, trying to adjust his grasp on the tree, discovering his fingers were frozen in place. He couldn't feel his feet…or his legs…and even blinking seemed difficult. He groaned. No! I don't want to be a Newsicle! An image of himself, being dug out of the snow all stiff and iced over days later by curious farmers, came all too clearly to mind. He tried to peer through the gusts of snow. Not a light to be seen anywhere. He couldn't even tell if there were any farms nearby. He might not be found for months! And no one knew he was out here; no one would even be looking for him!
Weakly, hopelessly, he called out, "Heeeellllpp!"
The wind moaned in response. He tried to put more strength into his voice: "Heeelllpp!"
A dusting of snow shook down from a higher branch, flumphing onto his nose. He started to cry, but his tears froze on his cheeks. He couldn't move. He was freezing. They'd find him in the spring, perhaps, an odd yellow thing perched halfway up this enormous tree. He stared at the long, sweeping needles. He was going to freeze to death right here, and he didn't even know what kind of tree it was. A fir? A pine? He felt like some sort of absurd Christmas ornament. And now he was hallucinating. Surely that meant he was at death's door. He must be too obsessed with the idea he was going to die on Christmas Eve. He could've sworn he heard jingling bells.
He did hear jingling bells. A lot of them, in fact. What the -?
"Ho, ho, ho!"
The Newsman was snatched from the treebranch, bodily hefted through the air a sickening moment, then plunked down hard. Something heavy swooped over him, covering him. The jingling sound, very loud now, continued constantly. He tried to blink, to clear his vision, because directly in front of him he thought he saw…he did see…two parallel lines of horses. No. Those were antlers. Deer.
Reindeer. In harnesses, with bells attached.
And a lot of blowing snow, and no road.
Slowly warming, the Newsman was able finally to blink, and to move a little. He felt a thick blanket covering him almost up to his eyes, draped snugly around him. With shivering fingers, he stroked the edge of it, amazed at how soft and thick and warm it was. And white, like some sort of fur.
"Ho, ho! Well, there! Good thing I was passing by, or you'd have been a very strange ornament for that Douglas fir!" boomed a voice right next to him, startling Newsie. Still shivering, completely confused, the Newsman looked up and saw a round, merry face with a long white beard smiling down at him.
"S-Santa?"
"Well, I'm not the Easter Bunny!" the large man in a red coat laughed. He nodded down at the Newsman in a friendly manner. "Warming up yet? Got that blanket from an Abominable family I know well. They wove it for me out of their shed fur. Works wonders on cold nights!"
Stunned, Newsie craned his neck to see over the edge of the sleigh, shifting the blanket off himself just enough to move freely. Yes. He was in an actual sleigh, with runners…and treetops whisking by below. Gulping, he scooted closer to the satisfied driver, then looked back up at the man. "Am I dreaming? Am I…er…"
The large man laughed, sounding like a friendlier version of Statler and Waldorf. "Oh, ho ho ho ho! No, you're very much alive and awake! Which is very naughty of you, you know; but given the circumstances, I'll make an exception for you this once!"
"Santa," Newsie said, excitement growing as the chill melted around him. "You're real!" Delight swept through him. "I knew it! I knew it!"
Santa gave him a very brief frown. "How old are you, son?"
"Er…"
The big man cocked his head to one side, studying Newsie, then reached past the partly-open blanket and Newsie's unbuttoned overcoat, and gave the PRESS badge still pinned to his sports coat a gentle tap with one white-gloved finger. "Aha! Well, that explains it. So tell me…why did you stop leaving cookies out for me…Aloysius?"
"Ulp!" Newsie's eyes went as wide as they could go, staring up at the living myth who'd rescued him from certain icicledom. "I…uh…er…I…"
"That one with the pretty icing was wonderful. Took it home to the missus," Santa said, nodding happily, twitching the reins of the team hauling the sleigh impossibly through the air, edging them away from an especially tall tree.
Newsie felt tears forming afresh in his eyes. "You…you remember me?"
"Made the nice list over forty years running? Of course!" The old elf smiled at him. "What were you doing up that tree, anyway? It's a terrible night to be tree-climbing!"
"Oh…oh…I was running from a monster," Newsie began, words spilling out in his relief and joy. "I didn't know he was a monster at first! I hitched a ride in his truck when the bus left me in Juhlsville, when I was trying to get to Bear Farm because Mother went on a cruise withou– oh! Bear Farm!" He stared wideyed at the countryside swirling by underneath the dancing feet of the reindeer. Where were they, anyway?
"Well, it just so happens I'm heading to Bear Farm next! Want a lift?" Santa asked, then nudged him. "Good! 'Cause you're being airlifted! Ho, ho, ho!"
"Thank you," Newsie said, overwhelmed. A thought occurred to him. "Wait! Here!" He plunged thawed fingers into his satchel, pulling out the protective box that held the glass butterfly. "Take this. From me." When the white-haired face gave him a puzzled frown, Newsie held the box up, swallowing hard. "Please."
"You're giving me a Christmas gift?" Claus asked, surprised. Unable to say anything else, Newsie nodded. The old elf accepted the box, tucking the reins under his arm so he could open it. He lifted out the butterfly, and suddenly the clouds parted. Moonlight shone through the delicate colored wings of the ornament, casting shimmering washes of yellow and red and orange onto the white fur blanket wrapped around the Newsman.
"That's mighty nice of you, Aloysius," Claus said. He tucked away the butterfly. "But you should give that to Mrs Bear. She loves butterflies, you know." He smiled at Newsie's serious nod of agreement. "Now. Let's get this stuff dropped off, hey? I have a lot of other stops still to make! Ho, hey! Down, Dasher! Down, Prancer!..."
The deer grumbled, turning their flight down toward a simple Victorian farmhouse nestled among heavy snowdrifts below. "Geez. Like we'd forget our names; every time he has ta yell at us all…"
"Eh, just shut up and keep jingling, Blitzen."
"Is it apple time yet?"
Groans. Several of the reindeer chorused, "No, Comet!"
The sleigh slid smoothly to a halt next to Fozzie's old car, in front of the house. Warm lights shone from every window, and the sound of singing came faintly through the closed panes. Newsie jumped down from the sledge as Santa clambered over a huge, bulging bag in the back seat and quickly rummaged through it. "Uh…can I help?" the Newsman offered uncertainly, tucking the boxed ornament back into his satchel.
"Yes, you can! Watch my team for me while I get this sorted out. They get a little restless, you know, if I take too long. One time they tried to leave without me in Hoboken!" Beaming, Claus tossed numerous wrapped gifts from the sleigh. Bewildered, Newsie walked carefully through the knee-high-to-a-Muppet snow to the twin rows of reindeer, looking at each of them in complete wonder. Believing in them, and actually standing right next to them, he realized, were two different things.
The deer nearest him swung its heavy head to eyeball him, and snorted, its breath puffing into the freezing air. "I know youse," it grunted.
"You…you do?"
"Yeah. You're da mook what kept leavin' treats out for fatso dere," the deer said, tossing its antlers in the direction of a decidedly roundish deer. The deer indicated looked around, its mouth salivating.
"Uhhh…treats? We get treats now?"
With a collective groan, the others all yelled, "No, Comet!"
Taken aback, Newsie stared at them, one hand rising doubtfully to his chin. "Er…I'm sorry? I thought…thought you liked apples and carrots…"
"Apples?" Comet's head perked again.
"Geeeez," one of the others said, rolling its head around on a stiff neck.
"No, already! Not 'til we get home, ya dope!" the first deer snapped, then looked back at Newsie. "Look, kid. He's had a weight problem for years, and dat stuff what you kept leavin' out for 'im was draggin' all da rest of us down, ya follow me?" Uncertainly, the Newsman nodded, and the deer's attitude softened. "Eh, whaddayagonnado. People likes ta leave stuffs fer us, who'm I ta blow 'em off? Look, could ya just scratch right dere? Dere, under my chin….oohhhh yeahhh…" It sighed happily as the Newsman scratched his fingers along the length of the reindeer's neck, from jaw to harness.
Newsie stood there, amazed at the soft feel of the animal's fur, thinking, This is one of Santa's actual reindeer! I am giving chin scratchies to a reindeer! His mouth slowly turned up into a wide smile. Farther up the line, another grumbled, "Yeah, sure. He gets chin scratchies, and whadda I get? A cold nose!"
Newsie would happily have spent hours petting all of them, but suddenly Santa returned, rubbing his backside. "Umff. All right, this is where we say so long, son. Go on in there; everyone's settled in already! I left a few things on the porch; I'd count it a favor if you'd take them inside for everyone. Oh," he added, as Newsie started for the house, "and watch out; there's an icy patch right in front of the door!" He grimaced, climbing back into the sleigh. "You'd think people would learn to put a little salt down…"
"Thank you, Santa!" Newsie called out as the deer began trotting. "Thank you! And Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, that's my line! Ho, ho, ho! To all Muppets, a good night!"
Newsie paused upon the wooden steps, smiling, watching the sleigh rapidly vanish into the driving snow. The sound of bells lingered a moment more before the wind swallowed it up. Shivering again without the fur blanket, the Newsman ran up the steps of the quaint old farmhouse, thinking about telling everyone what had just –
He stopped. No. They wouldn't believe me. The realization saddened him. He'd be laughed at, just like ten years ago. Looking down at himself, he touched the shiny brass-and-tin PRESS badge on his sports coat, and gradually a smile spread across his face once more. It doesn't matter. I know. Nodding to himself, pleased, he saw the sack of presents sitting on the porch for the entire Muppet crowd, and hurried to do as he'd been bid. I wonder what he brought everyone? I wonder if they had cocoa already? Maybe there's a little left…
Caught up in warm thoughts, he completely forgot the warning about the icy patch.